


Royal Purple, or: Adventures in Grandiosity

by YaminoBossBitch



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol, Attempted Murder, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-compliant genocide, Character Analysis, Character Study, Child Abuse, Gen, Imperialism, Manipulation, Mild Gore, Paranoia, Racism, Sex discussed, Villain PoV, Vomiting, Xenophobia, basically a breakdown of all my Frieza headcanons, canon-compliant character death, grandiose delusions, kind of a weird rambling thing, not really a plot, self-obsession, villain perspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:40:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25171756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YaminoBossBitch/pseuds/YaminoBossBitch
Summary: “Purple was the color of royalty, the color of power, the color of prestige. It was also the color of Frieza. He never believed this was a coincidence. After all, he was meant for greatness.”Frieza, who he is, what made him the tyrant he became, and the reasoning behind his actions, all from his perspective.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Royal Purple, or: Adventures in Grandiosity

**Author's Note:**

> CW: canon-compliant genocide, canon-compliant character death, canon-typical violence, alcohol, attempted murder, vomiting, imperialism, racism, xenophobia, child abuse, abuse, sex discussed, paranoia, mild gore, manipulation, let me know if you need anything else tagged 
> 
> A note about this story, this is all told from a villainous perspective, as such bigotry and violence are treated as positive and acceptable through the narrative lens. Please be aware of this.

Purple was the color of royalty, the color of power, the color of prestige. It was also the color of Frieza. He never believed this was a coincidence. After all, he was meant for greatness. Maybe not destined for it—destiny was exactly the sort of foolish drivel his subjects believed in, like Vegeta—but he knew from a very young age that he would be a great ruler one day. His father had an empire, but he had nowhere near the ambition that Frieza did.

“One should always strive for power,” King Cold said to him once when he was a child. “But a wise ruler knows that everyone has limits. If you come across an enemy you cannot defeat, partner with them, or strike a bargain. If you can’t do that, avoid them entirely. Your rule will never crumble if you do so.”

Frieza managed to hide his disgust at his father’s cowardice. He saw this tactic as weakness. There was no enemy too great for Frieza.

His brother lacked the drive necessary to be an emperor. Cooler was too quiet, too meek, too scared of his own power. Frieza hated him. He was sickened by his weakness. He was the eldest son of King Cold, he shouldn’t have feared anything.

He wandered into the kitchen, still a small boy, barely able to see over the counters. The staff were preparing lunch. He pointed to a tray that was being arranged.

“This one,” he said. “It’s for my brother, is it not?”

“Yes, Lord Frieza.” A cook replied. Frieza grinned. He handed two small tablets to the cook.

“Put these in his wine.”

The cook went pale.

“Sir, with all due respect—“

“It would be respectful for you to shut up and do as I say.” Frieza interrupted in a low growl.

The cook’s hands trembled violently as he dissolved the tablets in the wine. The wine changed color, from blood red to royal purple.

“He will notice the color is different, sir,” the cook said. He looked ill.

“Tell him it’s something new. A vintage berry wine. He’d like that.”

The staff brought his tray out. Frieza watched from around the corner as Cooler ate. It only took a few seconds after his first sip of wine. He began coughing, choking, and vomiting. He fell from his chair, wheezing and grasping at his throat.

Some of the men found him as the color left his face. They picked him up to take him to a medic. As he was carried off, his eyes found Frieza. They locked for a moment, and it was clear he understood what had happened.

A couple hours later, Frieza went with his father to visit his brother as he recovered.

“I know which cook is responsible. If only I had known what was happening at the time I could have done something to stop him.” Frieza said, doing his best to convey grief.

“You are the one responsible! I know it!” Cooler snarled.

“Cooler, Frieza said he saw someone else do it.” King Cold said, doing his best to mediate, which was not normally his strong suit.

“He’s a liar! You cannot possibly believe him, just look at his face!”

At that moment, Frieza realized he was smiling. He knew he had gotten away with it, even if his assassination attempt wasn’t successful.

“I’m only happy that you survived this horrific ordeal, brother.” He said.

“You’re a despicable liar!” Cooler spat.

King Cold raised a hand.

“Cooler,” he said “You have no reason to suspect Frieza was involved. You’ve been through a lot, try to get some rest.”

King Cold left the room. Cooler glared at his younger brother.

“I know you’re lying.” He said in a low growl. Frieza grinned.

“That’s rather obvious, brother. But you must know father will never believe you.” He said.

Within a couple hours, the cook Frieza had instructed to poison the wine was killed for his treason.

While King Cold never rescinded his assertion that Frieza was not the one responsible for the poisoning, he did begin to treat Frieza differently after this. Almost carefully, as if he were afraid to get on his bad side. Frieza didn’t mind this at all, though he didn’t harbor any desire to kill his father. His father was less ambitious than Frieza, but at least he wasn’t totally spineless like Cooler.

Cooler left not long after this, taking a small legion of troops and disappearing. Frieza didn’t know where he went, and he didn’t care. Either way, his goal was accomplished. Cooler was out of his way. King Cold began to give more responsibilities to Frieza, troops, ships, planets, more and more under Frieza’s name.

The first time he met Beerus, he was confused. His father had told him much about him, that he was one of very few that should never, ever be trifled with. King Cold spoke so gravely of this that Frieza almost couldn’t take him seriously. What was a god to the almighty emperor Frieza?

Beerus looked nothing like he expected. When his father told him he was a god of destruction, Frieza had imagined a giant, loathsome, horrific thing. What he found instead was a rather scrawny, not-very-tall feline. He had never seen anyone of this species before. With him was his attendant, much taller but still looking nothing like what Frieza had pictured. Beerus has arrived on Planet Vegeta, and began demanding—of all ridiculous things—food. Frieza was watching from the safety of his ship. King Vegeta frantically relayed everything that was happening.

It was sickening, really, to watch a grown man become so distraught and panicked as he attempted to appease the deity. Watch him get slapped around at least was entertaining to watch. Frieza almost wondered if he and this Beerus fellow would get along.

Frieza didn’t believe in friendship. Allowing oneself to become close to others was just opening up the doors to vulnerability, to others learning your weaknesses, to others knowing, for example, that you’re naïve enough to not question being given purple wine when you’d asked for red. There were a few members of his force he felt something akin to trust for, but he never truly trusted anybody. Captain Ginyu was one he was rather fond of. But he’d never truly open himself up and show his weaknesses to him. Berryblue had been by his side as a caretaker since he was an infant. She knew him better than anyone. He couldn’t let her go far. She knew too much.

Beerus appeared in his ship beside his attendant. Frieza followed his father’s lead, he bowed deeply, and observed as his father told Beerus what an honor it was to be in his presence. He wondered if his father meant a word of it.

“And who is this?” Beerus asked, looking down at Frieza.

“My youngest son, Frieza.” King Cold said.

Frieza bowed again.

“It’s an honor to finally meet you, Lord Beerus.” He said.

“I see,” Beerus said. “So you have your boy in charge of the Saiyans, is that right?”

“Yes, Lord Beerus, just recently.” King Cold said.

“Is that so? And how are you feeling about that?” Beerus addressed Frieza directly.

“It’s an honor to hold such a responsibility. The Saiyans are an excellent resource.”

“So you like them?” Beerus asked. Frieza considered this.

“They make a useful addition to my forces. But they are a savage and uncouth race of monkeys.”

“So, if you were able to sustain your force without them, would you get rid of them?”

“Are you asking me as a question, Lord Beerus? Or is this something you would like me to do?” Frieza could feel his father’s eyes on him. He ignored it.

“They’re arrogant, aren’t they? Crude, vulgar creatures not worth the dirt they were born from. They serve good food, but they’re so cocky. That King Vegeta is unbearable. I promised not to destroy their planet if they gave a good meal,” Beerus cocked his head and sighed. “They delivered. But still, I can’t stand those insolent animals.”

“I’d need time to build my force.” Frieza said.

“W-wait a moment—“ King Cold said, a hint of fear in his voice.

“Is there a problem, Cold?” Beerus asked, his golden eyes narrowing into a glare.

“N-no, sir, Lord Beerus, I-I’m only concerned with my son. He hasn’t been on his own for very long, I just wouldn’t want him to make any decisions that could be harmful to—“

“Are you questioning my abilities as a leader, father?” Frieza asked. His voice was sweet but his eyes were menacing. King Cold straightened, not about to have his authority questioned by his own son in front of a god.

“Getting rid of the Saiyans would leave you weak and vulnerable. Disgusting as they may be, they are incredibly powerful. The Force needs them.” He said.

“Apparently there’s been some confusion,” Beerus interrupted. His tail was swishing with annoyance. “Let me be very clear. I don’t give a damn about your empire, your force, or any of it. I want the Saiyans erased,” the room seemed to darken around the Destroyer. For a moment, Frieza felt something. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt anything quite like it. Like a jolt through his body, a mad urge to run away, for just a moment, it was as if he couldn’t think at all. His body trembled. Why was it doing that? His eyes went wide, betraying his desire to remain neutral-faced in the presence of the god. “However,” Beerus straightened upright, the dark aura around him seeming to disappear. “We’ve always gotten along in the past, haven’t we, Cold?”

“Yes, Lord Beerus,” King Cold nodded. Frieza looked up to his father. His father was an enormous man, several times Frieza’s size. Yet, he had the same, unusual expression Frieza did. Wide-eyes and pale skin.

“So, I’ll give you a chance. I’m going to be back in a year. And if Planet Vegeta is still here,” Beerus turned to look directly at young Frieza. “I’ll destroy you.” Frieza nodded. “By the way, have either of you ever heard of something called...oh, what was it...a something Saiyan...”

“Super Saiyan, Lord Beerus.” Said his attendant.

“That’s it. A Super Saiyan.”

Frieza looked to his father. His father looked confused.

“The Super Saiyan is an old legend. Like a folktale. Such a thing doesn’t truly exist.” King Cold said.

“Is that so? Interesting.”

Beerus and his attendant left, and Frieza fell to his knees. This feeling, he realized he had seen it before. In his enemies, in the worthless creatures he slaughtered.

It was fear.

“Father,” Frieza said. “What is the legend of the Super Saiyan?” King Cold frowned.

“It’s a fairy tale. I don’t remember it all that well myself, I think King Vegeta mentioned something about it years ago. The legend had it that a Saiyan was so powerful that he was able to transform into a stronger form and take down the evil that was threatening their home. Something absurd like that.” He explained. Frieza did not feel reassured.

“Transform? Like,” he lowered his voice to a slight whisper. “Like we can?”

“It’s not real, Frieza. If the Saiyans had such an ability they would have used it on me ages ago.”

Frieza insisted he didn’t need his father’s help. King Cold still seemed uncertain about this arrangement, but it was clear he didn’t have a choice. Frieza began to expand his empire, massively. He worked his men, some of them to death as they worked outward, becoming larger and larger, until the Saiyans were only a fraction of the force.

King Vegeta expressed his concerns for this expansion. Frieza paid him no heed. He’d be gone soon anyway.

Some of the Saiyans tried to fight. This didn’t surprise Frieza, but it also didn’t matter. They didn’t stand a chance.

Nobody did.

Lord Beerus was a roadblock. He was more powerful than Frieza for now. Frieza would find a way to surpass him. For now, he’d bide his time and do what he could to not get destroyed. And when he was strong enough, he’d kill that arrogant bastard himself.

Destroying Planet Vegeta was an oddly cleansing experience. Like getting rid of old belongings he didn’t need anymore. Although a few Saiyans survived, just a handful, Frieza didn’t think it mattered. If Lord Beerus didn’t like it, Frieza could easily finish off the rest of them. Now, he had no concern about this Super Saiyan legend, either. Even if it was a story, stories had a way of giving hope to people who would be much better off submitting.

Lord Beerus didn’t return when he said he would. King Cold explained that Beerus was known to sleep for very long periods of time, decades. It was possible he was asleep again and may have forgotten all about it. Frieza didn’t mind, getting rid of the Saiyans could only be beneficial.

Among the survivors was the Prince, little Vegeta IV. Frieza found himself rather amused by Vegeta. He enjoyed the process of breaking him like a wild animal. At first, Vegeta fought. He was defiant and argumentative. Frieza rather enjoyed hurting him. The way he stubbornly tried not to cry. The way he gasped for breath through the paralysis of having his tail pulled.

Perhaps it was because Frieza made it look so fun, but other men started hurting Vegeta too. Some doing far crueler things than Frieza would have ever done himself. He knew it was happening. He didn’t care. The more the merrier when it came to crushing the pride of the fallen prince. Eventually, Vegeta became quite obedient. Subservient. Watching the prince bow to him and follow his every command gave Frieza a rush.

As he grew into adulthood, Frieza felt that Vegeta was like a favorite pet of his. He amused himself with his games, making his life as difficult as possible. Vegeta took it all so patiently.

As the Frieza Force grew and his empire expanded, Frieza came up against a new problem: boredom. He had no one to fear, nothing to do but grow. It was unstoppable. And Frieza felt...odd. It was like a strange emptiness. Longing, perhaps. For what, he didn’t know. But filling the void was difficult. Not much helped. No amount of violence and control made him feel like he was complete. Yet, violence and control was all he knew.

As he got older, sex was the only thing that seemed to really help this constant sense of emptiness. And even then, it only helped temporarily. Still, it became a fascination of his, to rub up against anyone who would take him. Sex felt like being worshipped. Like being validated. Like he was being honored for all his glory and beauty and power.

The only downside was that sex involved other people. And other people were never as good in personality as they were in the bedroom. It was often as if none of them understood the greatness of Frieza. They should have been honored to have the privilege of touching him, of being touched by him, of getting to have him all to themselves even for just one night. But no, all too often, they wanted more. His partners made ridiculous demands. They wanted his time, his undivided attention. They demanded loyalty and commitment. It disgusted him. How dare they? Half of them weren’t good enough to be in his presence, he only chose them because he was feeling particularly titillated that day. Even the few he did, on some level, want around for more than a night or two, Frieza would never admit this out loud. It would be too weak, too revealing.

His father was married. Frieza had no desire for a spouse. He didn’t see the point. Someone else who would try to make demands of him, someone who would pry, someone who he’d have to go out of his way to keep his secrets from. No, he had no desire for such an exhausting sort of relationship. As tumultuous as his partners could be, he could always leave them behind, or even have them killed it it got to that point. A spouse would simply be too much of a hassle.

“Lord Frieza, sir,” the sound came through the intercom. Frieza was wrapped in his royal purple sheets. His partner from the night before had made himself scarce. Frieza sneered at the empty bed beside him. What an ingrate, running off before he had been given permission.

“Yes, what is it?”

“It’s Vegeta, sir.”

“What about him?”

“He’s taken off without permission, we think he may be following Raditz to the planet he died on.”

“Where’s Nappa? Shouldn’t he be the one reporting this?” Frieza asked, an annoyed snarl in his voice.

“Nappa has gone with him, my Lord.”

“Oh? So the last of my monkey pets have finally turned on me?” Frieza said. He climbed out of his bed and stretched.

“W-well, sir, we aren’t certain, but—“

“Don’t concern yourself with it. Inform me once he’s arrived at his destination. He and Nappa brought scouters, of course.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. We’ll find out what they’re after then. Meanwhile, it’s business as usual.”

Frieza was not happy. This wasn’t the first time Vegeta had tried to run off. That was why Nappa was almost always with him. Nappa feared for his life enough that he would always bring Vegeta back. Frieza had a hold on the both of them. He had suspected for some time that they put together that it was, in fact, he who had destroyed their home world and wiped out most of their people. He didn’t care, as it didn’t really change anything. Vegeta was buried in so many layers of denial he’d never do anything about it anyway.

But this time, Nappa hadn’t brought him back. They were conspiring together. Against him. He took his rage out on the men, hurting and killing anyone who displeased him. He broke the hand of a frightened servant who was trying to bring him food, spitting demands that she taste the food herself and prove it wasn’t poisoned. The purple berry wine spilled across the floor. He promised the next time he brought her wine that wasn’t red, he’d have her killed.

Others looked to him with confusion. He scoffed and ordered them to get back to work. Fools. They didn’t know. They had no idea what he had to do to survive. If he let his guard down for even a second, he’d end up like his foolish brother, in self-imposed exile, or worse, actually drinking the poison and dying because he was too stupid to consider why his wine was royal purple.

It was a year when Frieza finally got word that Vegeta had arrived at his destination. He put his scouter on and listened with interest.

Neither Vegeta nor Nappa mentioned Frieza. This didn’t surprise him. They didn’t want to be obvious. Nappa was battling some Earthlings. Surprisingly, he was having a hard time.

Frieza hadn’t heard of this planet until Raditz ran off for it, insisting his brother was alive. Frieza had forgotten that Raditz had a brother. That idiot oaf Bardock had two children. Frieza assumed the younger one died in the destruction of the planet, but Raditz had come across information that suggested that his brother had been out on a pod and sent to a far away planet. It was curious, as Kakarot was only an infant, not even able to speak yet. He clearly wasn’t sent away for a mission. If Bardock had hoped his son would become powerful enough to stop Frieza, it was obvious now that wouldn’t happen. Earth was a low-level planet full of weak inhabitants. The odds of Kakarot gaining much strength at all was absurd.

They kept mentioning Dragon Balls, apparently something Raditz had mentioned during his visit as well. They mentioned wishing for immortality, and Namekians.

When Kakarot arrived, both Nappa and Vegeta’s tones changed. It was almost as if they were afraid.

“It’s over nine thousa—“

The transmission cut off.

Frieza tried to tune into Nappa’s scouter, but since Nappa wasn’t wearing it, he could only pick up a few bits and pieces, and then nothing at all.

It didn’t matter. He had all the information he needed.

“Set a course for Planet Namek.” He instructed his men.

Immortality, now that might just be enough to kill a god.

He was getting close to Namek when he got the call.

“Lord Frieza, sir,” a soldier stammered. What was his name again? Cui?

“Yes?”

“It’s Vegeta, sir. He’s emerged from the healing tank.”

“Oh, is that so? And how is the monkey?” Frieza leaned back in his chair.

“He’s going to Namek. He means to stop you from getting the Dragon Balls.” Cui said.

Frieza laughed.

“Oh my, is that so? Vegeta, where did I go wrong with you,” He smirked. “Put out an announcement: Vegeta is now an enemy of the Frieza Force. Any soldier that finds him is instructed to stop him at any cost. I want him dead or alive.”

At first, everything on Namek was going fine. Why shouldn’t it have been? The Nameks were peaceable. They had no military whatsoever. A bunch of weak, miserable, sluglike creatures on a desolate planet with no value.

The Earthlings were a surprise, though at the time they grabbed the Namekian child and ran, Frieza didn’t know who they were. He sent Dodoria to kill them.

Dodoria never returned.

Frieza already was tired of this. How could they possibly be having trouble? They could wipe out every last Namekian if they needed to. He needed the Dragon Balls. He needed to be immortal. Unstoppable.

He sent Zarbon and Appule out next.

It was becoming tedious. He had six Dragon Balls. He needed seven.

When Zarbon returned with news that Vegeta had been defeated, Frieza instructed him to retrieve him and bring him to a medical tank. Vegeta knew where the last Dragon Ball was, and Frieza was going to find out even if it meant choking it from his last breath.

Several explosions told him that Vegeta was awake.

Vegeta.

The Dragon Balls.

By the time he and Zarbon got to the room where the Dragon Balls had been stored, they were all gone, and Vegeta, too.

Frieza was losing his patience. This sort of insolence might have been expected from Vegeta. He was stupid Saiyan, after all, barely intelligent enough to speak. But Dodoria, Zarbon, Appule, what’s-his-name—Cui? They acted as if they didn’t know better. As if they didn’t understand that Frieza deserved this. No one else could be allowed to be immortal. It wasn’t just about defeating Beerus. It was everything. There was no one more intelligent, more capable, more deserving of immortality than Frieza. His power was limitless. He was everything. If he hadn’t met a god himself he’d say he was one, but he was close enough. At least, he would be once the Dragon Balls made him immortal.

He gave Zarbon an hour to retrieve Vegeta and the Dragon Balls, or else he’d kill him. Honestly, Frieza would hate to do it. Zarbon was a loyal soldier, never questioning or doubting him. Dodoria too, he’d miss him. But they were not as important as his goal. Nothing was.

It turned out that he didn’t have to worry about killing Zarbon himself. He died by Vegeta’s hand. This was getting serious.

He’d have to call the Ginyu Force in.

Within an hour of arriving, Captain Ginyu returned with the Dragon Balls. Frieza was relieved. He wondered why he hadn’t done it sooner, except perhaps not wanting to appear weak. Vegeta was causing an awful lot of fuss for one stupid monkey.

“Grant me immortality!”

Nothing happened. He frowned. Certainly there should have been something. A light or a voice or even a puff of smoke. They didn’t work. He remembered the Namekian elder, the one who had told him that even with the Dragon Balls, he’d never get his wish. Frieza thought it was the usual desperate drivel that vermin often spouted when they thought they were about to die. Now it was clear there was more to it than that.

He’d have to investigate this personally.

In the time it took to get to the elder Namekian, kill his pathetic guards, and learn that the password for the Dragon Balls was on its way to the Earthlings and Vegeta, things fell apart. The entire Ginyu Force, including his closest associate, Captain Ginyu, were dead. The enemy had the Dragon Balls. The sky was dark.

The dragon had been summoned.

There was one wish left by the time he got there. Vegeta barked an order to the Namekian child. The Namekian child began speaking to the Dragon in his hideous native tongue. Vegeta’s wish for immortality.

Before it could complete, the old Namekian died and took the Dragon Balls with him.

Taking Frieza’s goal of immortality with him.

He was already angry. He was already going to kill all of them, making Vegeta’s death particularly painful and slow. But Vegeta goading him into transforming only made it more fun. Vegeta, the stupid animal, had convinced himself he was the Super Saiyan of legend. Frieza couldn’t wait to break every bone in his body just to humiliate him.

He had once had his power level in this form tested. The machine topped out at one million. Frieza’s power just reached the maximum. It wasn’t bragging to say his power level was one million. It was true. But he was very proud of it.

The Earthlings were weak. They screamed and suffered and struggled. Their screams were thrilling to hear. The sounds of weak, frightened animals dying by his hand. He was the most powerful. The strongest. The best. No one could ever surpass him.

The child hurt him. He’d hurt him a hundred times more. These fools didn’t understand at all. They didn’t understand his might. If they could grasp how important, how much better Frieza was than anyone else in this entire filth-ridden universe, they wouldn’t dare approach him this way. Stupid. They were all stupid.

The bald one cut his tail off. Frieza made a mental note to give that one the most painful death he could think of. He chased him down, but was soon confronted with a Namekian. A strong Namekian.

There wasn’t time for confusion or questions. This Namekian was proving to be a problem.

He transformed again. He didn’t care for this form. It was powerful, but rather ugly. Still, it sent the Namekian flying. Before he knew it, the child was back.

How? How were they healing? How were they getting stronger?

Getting stronger. Of course. Frieza had heard of this phenomenon. Saiyans grew stronger after healing from a fierce battle. How they were healing, Frieza didn’t yet know, but one thing was clear: this child was a Saiyan.

They had bred somehow.

The thought revolted him, a half-monkey creature. How disgusting. Leave it to a Saiyan to do something as vulgar as to interbreed with aliens and create little abominations like this.

Frieza saw them Namekian child healing Vegeta. That was it. They were conspiring. The Saiyan and the mutt would get beaten down and then the Namek child would heal them, and they’d gain even more strength. A clever tactic. One that needed to be squashed immediately.

Frieza liked his final form. He liked the coloring and the elegant simplicity of it. The pure white contrasted with royal purple. It was beauty. It was a kind of artistic aesthetic, the sort of thing no Saiyan monkey could comprehend. Frieza preferred to conserve this form, but there had been times where he considered living in it. He was the color of power, or royalty, and he was to be admired and feared.

Vegeta was cocky. Vegeta was always cocky.

But it didn’t take him long to learn. It was satisfying, finally, to beat him down. There was no Super Saiyan. There was no surpassing Frieza. And this traitorous dog would be broken a thousand times before he was finally put down for good.

After killing Vegeta, things got blurry. Kakarot arrived—Goku, as he went by now. He was strong. He was fast. Frieza was still better, of course, but it was a shock. Right before he died, Vegeta pitifully cried and told Goku of all the trauma he went through because of Frieza, how he was forced to do terrible things. It was disgusting just to watch him blubbering like that. He didn’t care. Putting that filthy monkey down was the best decision he ever made. Frieza honestly wondered why he had waited to long. Perhaps he let his emotional attachments get in the way. Vegeta was a good pet for so many years, but he served no purpose anymore. That seemed to anger Goku, which was odd, since Frieza had been under the impression that they were enemies. This Goku seemed to have... empathy? Compassion? Solicitude? Something like that. It was a weakness, anyway.

One that Frieza made a note of.

They fought. This Saiyan seemed able to control his power, to multiply it several times over. Even as Frieza increased his own, using more and more of his power, it was difficult to keep up.

The Saiyan pulled a bizarre but effective move, one he called the Spirit Bomb. That one hurt. In fact, Frieza thought it could well have been his end for a moment.

Just for a moment, though.

His body ached everywhere. He was going to make that hubristic ape suffer. He was going to tear each and every one of them apart. How dare they? Who did they think they were? Why did these low-level brainless fools think they had some special right to hurt the Lord Frieza and get away with it? When he climbed up to get a view of them, it even looked like they were celebrating. Celebrating his pain.

He fired at Goku, but the Namekian sacrificed himself. No matter.

The bald one caught his eye. The one who had cut off his tail. Oh, this was perfect. As he was lifted high into the air, he screamed for help before being blown apart.

Goku was screaming. Then changing. Glowing. His hair. His eyes. They changed.

A Super Saiyan.

Then, pain, and lots of it. He was being brutalized, thrown about like some kind of weakling. The whole time, between blinding blows and agonizing hits, Frieza couldn’t stop thinking that this was impossible. He had done everything right. He destroyed Planet Vegeta. He got rid of the Saiyans like Beerus said he should. He broke Vegeta, the strongest, proudest Saiyan left, turned him into his pet. When his pet ran away in search of greener pastures, he followed him to the treasure, and then put his pet down for his trouble.

He should have be immortal now. He should have been the strongest. These weaklings should have been his playthings. He did everything perfectly. He always did. Who was to blame? Goku, for being a traitor to the Saiyans? Vegeta, for betraying Frieza? That Namekian for daring to try to take him on, or the bald Earthling, or the half-breed child? The Namekian child? No, this went back further. Zarbon, Dodoria, Appule, Captain Ginyu, for failing him. Nappa for conspiring against him. Raditz for finding his mutant brother. Further. Beerus, he had set him up. King Vegeta for claiming that the Super Saiyan was only a myth. His own father for being unprepared for the true might of the Saiyans. Cooler, for surviving the poisonous purple wine. Everyone. Everything. It had all been a trap. A ruse. There was no other explanation. Frieza was the strongest being in the universe. He was brilliant, and powerful, and glorious, and no one could ever stand up to him.

The planet. If he couldn’t destroy Goku, he’d take out this whole damn planet, just like he did to Planet Vegeta.

But he was so tired. The energy it took to fire the blast wasn’t enough. He estimated it would take five minutes. He was really just guessing. It didn’t matter. He could survive in space, and none of these ingrates could. He’d win anyway.

Something strange happened then. Something Frieza couldn’t explain. Amidst the fight, the crumbling planet, Vegeta reappeared.

Frieza felt that feeling again. The trembling. The urge to run. Vegeta was dead. Yet he was there.

“Y-you must be a ghost,“ Frieza stammered in blind fear.

“Could a ghost do this? Huh, Frieza—“

Vegeta vanished right before his eyes.

Yes, Frieza supposed, a ghost probably could do that.

Everyone was gone, except for Goku. He didn’t know how. He didn’t care. He was getting weaker. Tired.

Then Goku wanted to leave.

He wanted to leave? As if a battle with the legendary Frieza was something you could just up and quit. As if Frieza’s infinite glory wasn’t good enough for him.

No. It wouldn’t end like this. Frieza refused to be humiliated like this.

He fired the discs and watched in amusement as they chased the ragged Saiyan through the air. He was so taken with the sight, perhaps it distracted him for a moment.

Goku hit hard. He was dizzied by the violence. This audacious monkey bastard would learn his lesson. Frieza landed in the dirt that cratered beneath his might. He’d kill him. He would kill Goku if it was the last thing he ever—

The feeling of being cut in half was difficult to describe. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. Like he was choking on blood. For the first time he felt like he was going to die. This wasn’t just fear. This was beyond fear. This couldn’t happen. _This could not happen._

Yet he watched his legs, his hand, his tail, fall away from his body, and in the distance his energy discs, blood red and royal purple, flew away into the sky.

He collapsed to the ground. Agony did not accurately describe what he felt.

Goku looked down at him. He looked down at the almighty emperor Frieza as if he were beneath him. And he began to walk away.

But Frieza remembered his weakness. And he’d use it to destroy this filthy simian once and for all.

“Stop—please, I beg of you—“ he gasped. Goku stopped. Perfect. “Please, don’t leave me to die like this. Please,” It was all he could do to not laugh. “I beg of you—don’t leave me to die like this—you can’t—“

Goku growled.

“How many have begged you for mercy?” He demanded. If Frieza had an ounce of energy, he’d have rolled his eyes. Who cared about them? They were pathetic.

“You can’t do this—you can’t—please—“

Goku stood before him. He looked angry. Conflicted. Frieza was waiting.

Then, he cried out.

A beam of energy hit Frieza, but it wasn’t an attack. It was like warmth. He felt some of his power return. The pain was still there, but he was no longer weak. His eyes flew open. He did it. This idiot actually did it.

“There. That should be enough to get you off the planet before it blows. You’re on your own from there.” Goku said.

He started to leave.

Frieza floated up. He stared at the Saiyan as he flew away.

The fool actually thought he’d won. He thought he’d defeated Frieza. _The_ Lord Frieza. Nothing could defeat him. Frieza was almighty. Unstoppable. The most powerful, most important, most brilliant being in the universe. This Saiyan Goku? Nothing. Scum. No one would remember him when he was gone.

With a cry, he put all the energy he had into the blast. It zipped toward Goku’s back.

Goku turned just in time. He cried out and fired a blast that redirected it back to him.

The last thing he saw was a flash of royal purple.

He drifted in and out of consciousness. At some point, Planet Namek was finally destroyed. He was in agony. He was cold. Hungry. Exhausted. Indeed he could survive in space, but it was unpleasant to say the least. He didn’t know how long he was out there. Hours or days or months or years. The monkey had lived. He had failed. How was this possible?

At some point, he was aware he wasn’t cold anymore. He was warm. He heard voices. Some were familiar. His father?

Yes. His father had found him, taken him aboard his ship, and saved him.

When he woke, his body was different. Cybernetically enhanced. He felt stronger. There was no more pain. He was powerful. More powerful than ever. As soon as he was aware of himself, he sat up.

“Set a course for Earth, Father.” He said. He could see relief in his father’s eyes.

“Planet Earth? Whatever for?”

“I wish to blow it up.” Frieza said.

“Change course!” King Cold called.

Frieza looked at himself in the mirror. He frowned. Most of the beautiful purple of his final form was covered with machinery now. He looked different. He wasn’t pristine beauty. He was...strange. It would take time for him to get used to. For a moment, he wondered if others would still be attractive to others. Then, he shook it off. Of course he would.

Besides, there were more important things to worry about now. He hadn’t felt that same haunting emptiness since meeting Goku. The void within him had been filled, and now all he cared about was exacting revenge.

King Cold stood beside him.

“Are you sure about this, my son?” He asked. Frieza glared.

“I can’t let that Saiyan filth live after what he did to me.” He growled. King Cold nodded.

“Of course.”

Earth was a strange planet. Mostly water. The area they landed in was a little dry, not much to look at. Boring. But the ship’s scanners suggested that if Goku was anywhere on this planet, it was around here. The strongest power levels were.

“Why not simply destroy the planet from the ship? Must we land?” King Cold asked.

“No. This is far too important. This isn’t as simple as destroying him.”

They stepped out of the ship. The men followed.

He was unstable. Angry. He knew it. He didn’t care. All he could think about was ripping Goku’s head off with his bare hands.

Before he had a chance to get started, his men fell. A young boy with a sword stood before him.

Frieza sneered. A time-waster.

“Kill him. And the rest of you kill everyone else you see.”

The stranger attacked. The men fell rapidly.

Frieza found himself smiling. Ah. Someone who would provide some amusement. That would be something. Maybe he wouldn’t feel so bitter.

When he claimed to be a Super Saiyan, Frieza felt a jolt of fear. But he pushed it down. No. Of course he was just being a braggart. Talking himself up, just like Vegeta used to do. Another foolish weakling trying to convince others he was better than we truly was.

Then he started screaming. The earth seemed to tremble at his power. His hair began to change color.

The fear returned. Tenfold. A hundredfold. Goku. That monkey kept flashing through his mind. How he’d humiliated him. How he’d destroyed him. No. NO.

He was stepping backward. He wanted to run. To get away. The flash of royal purple when the discs sliced through him. The flash of royal purple when the blast knocked him out. The flash of royal purple when Cooler dropped the poisoned wine.

But the truth was, the stranger, who looked nothing like a Saiyan at all, was indeed a Super Saiyan.

Frieza didn’t waste time attacking. His fear turned to rage. He would NOT be humiliated by another Saiyan ape. He would NOT let himself be defeated again. He could faintly hear his father scolding him for attacking so vigorously. He didn’t care.

Frieza was ready to destroy everything and everyone.

With a massive explosion, he was gone. Frieza breathed a sigh of relief. His father teased him, and he responded with anger. King Cold always behaved so embarrassingly.

A blast came from nowhere. He dodged it in time. When he looked up, the boy was there, sword in hand.

At first there was nothing. Then, immense pain beyond anything he’d felt. Then nothing at all.

Frieza was suddenly in a peculiar place. Fluffy clouds surrounding a stone roadway. A line leading into a massive building. Frieza followed, observing his surroundings.

Was this the afterlife?

Frieza never gave much thought to theology. He didn’t know how it worked and he didn’t care. He never imagined he’d be there, and certainly not at his age. His body was the same, robotically modified one he’d died in, but intact, not cut apart as he had been when he was killed.

Killed.

Frieza had been killed?

This didn’t make sense. How was this possible? After everything he’d survived, everything he’d done right, some stranger came from nowhere and just killed him? Just like that? It didn’t seem real. It couldn’t be real.

“Name?”

Frieza was standing before a massive desk at which a massive man sat, red-skinned with horns. He was looking at a stack of papers and seemed exhausted. He didn’t even look at Frieza.

“I am Lord Frieza.” He said, folding his arms.

“Ah, Lord Fri—LORD FRIEZA?” The man slammed his hands on the desk and leaned over to look at him.

“I see my reputation precedes me. Tell me, fat man, what is this place?” Frieza asked. His tail swished with curiosity.

“F-fat—I am not—-“ the man stammered. He cleared his throat. “I am King Yemma. And you, Frieza, are in the afterlife. I make the decisions as to where each person goes.”

“What are the options?”

“Heaven or Hell. And you are definitely going to Hell.”

Frieza felt no need to argue. If, by this place’s standards, he wasn’t meant for Heaven, then Heaven was not the sort of place he wanted to go.

Hell was not what he expected. There was no fire, no torture. There wasn’t much of anything. Empty plains and expanses. Others were there. Most of them seemed to have given up on fighting. Hell was just a quiet place of reflection.

Disgusting.

Frieza felt something akin to joy when he saw the Ginyu Force again. He listened to them recount their stories of their deaths, and how they escaped King Yemma to find and stop the fighters who were trying to stop him. Frieza felt a great relief.

He had four men already. He could gain more. He could become more powerful than anyone in Hell. So powerful he could rule hell. So powerful he could escape hell.

Yes, after all, he was Lord Frieza. He was royal purple. He was the color of royalty and power and prestige. Death may have been the end for everyone before him. But none were as strong as he was. No, to someone like Frieza, death was merely a bump in the road. He would be free of Hell. He would kill Goku and that Saiyan punk who killed him. He’d find a way to become immortal, to defeat Lord Beerus. Nothing could stand in his way.

Nothing.

(If you liked this story and want to know how to get one of your very own, check me out [here](https://chi-chi-mcroberts.tumblr.com/post/627008462566653952))

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as part of a prompt challenge, the prompt was “royal purple.” I had a lot of fun writing this, it was an unusual sort of exercise in writing that took on a life of its own. I know it’s not a typical story but I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.


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